


Et Tu, Brute?

by JoyStar



Category: Welcome to Hell - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Gen, Historical References, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Murder-Suicide, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 21:12:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoyStar/pseuds/JoyStar
Summary: Centuries after Brutus murdered his friend Caesar and then killed himself, the former's descendant, a teen named Sock with homicidal tendencies, just may be doomed to repeat those events by killing his best friend, and possibly even himself. AU inspired by the fanon/semi-canon subtext that Sock is descended from Brutus. Warning for character death and homicidal Sock.





	Et Tu, Brute?

**Author's Note:**

> This entire fic was inspired by a discussion on the W2H Discord server, where some on the server theorized that Sock was related to Brutus, and Erica said we made a good case for that. So... semi-canon, I guess? Wanted to write an AU fic regarding that anyway, so here's the start of it!
> 
> Also I was initially going to have Tom appear at the end of this first chapter, but I'll save him coming in for a bit later.

"Memento Mori - Remember you will die"  
-Latin phrase

Marcus Brutus wasn’t sure what he expected after running himself through with a sword, but it certainly wasn’t standing in an office with a man who had bright orange hair and an unusual outfit. This man certainly had a professional air about him, though he certainly didn’t have a style he had seen anyone in Rome wear before. 

But that was nothing compared to what the man had said when Brutus first arrived.

“Welcome to Hell.”

It was that moment, going over the words in his mind again, that the former Roman noticed that the apparent boss of this place was staring at him expectantly. So far he wasn’t being eternally tortured, but… 

At last, sitting down in the chair provided, Brutus forced himself to speak. “You’re saying you’re the devil?” 

“Call me Mephistopheles,” the man said quickly, with a smile that was somehow a mixture of polite and sinister. “Do you know why you’re here, Mr. Brutus?” 

Brutus looked the ruler of Hell in the eye, though a bit warily, the guilt from before beginning to rush to the forefront of his mind. “Because I killed my best friend… and later killed myself.”

Mephistopheles smirked. “Bingo, that’d do it.” 

“I expected you to look different.” 

“What, have three mouths? Horns? Fangs?” Mephistopheles waved his hand dismissively. “Typical, humans give things that scare them a non-human appearance so they can try to distance themselves from it. Pretty good psychological defense if ya ask me.” 

Brutus opened his mouth to say more, but fell silent, his hands resting on the desk before him. As much of a warrior as he was, the devil—Mephistopheles, he reminded himself—had a point.

“So, Brutus”, Mephistopheles said while cracking his knuckles, drawing the warrior’s attention, “seeing you betray your friend like that and then killing yourself was actually rather interesting. Especially since you were going up against a military general like Caesar.”

Brutus gave Mephistopheles a quizzical glance, sittig up a bit straighter in the chair. “You’re saying that as if I should feel proud of my actions.”

“You’re in Hell, what do you expect?” Mephestopheles shrugged. “Point is, how would you like to give it a shot having someone follow in your footsteps?” 

“But, I’m dead.” 

“Well, maybe they ought to call you Brutus the Obvious instead of the Younger.” Mephistopheles rolled his eyes slightly as he stood, urging Brutus to stand as well. “You’ve got a kid, right?” 

“I do, but—” 

“And does Ceasar?” 

“I’m not certain if he does, but—”

“Perfect. So, here’s what I’m thinking.” Mephistopheles gazed at his shelves of filing cabinets, which were already starting to look a little curved on the top. “Long enough down the line after your time, oh, say, centuries—concept of time isn’t something I can tell too easily here—it might not be too long before your descendant and Caesar’s cross paths, And if they do, well, who knows? Bad blood might be generational.”

Brutus took a deep breath. “So to entertain yourself you’re hoping that my descendant will make the same choices I had made?” 

Mephistopheles only smiled. “Bingo.”

\---- 

_“...Sock?...”_

Sock felt as if he were hearing the voice through a veil of water, separating the voice from his ears. Everything around him was dark and he was barely aware of his own body. Except there was something in his hands, something that was pressing cold against his skin...

“Sock, time to get up!”

The voice was sharper this time, and Sock’s green eyes opened. 

Oh, school. Right. 

“I’ll be down in a minute!” he called, feeling coming back to him as he was pulled into the waking world. As he sat up, his hands still clenched, and he finally allowed himself to look down as he kicked the covers off.

His hands were clenched tight around a metal blade, the morning sun reflecting off it, held close to his chest like a security blanket. Sock’s hands slackened. 

“Must’ve been sleepwalking again.”

Even so, he couldn’t help but gript it tighter for a split second. He’d never admit it to anyone, save for his friend Tom who already knew about his tendencies, but… something about holding that knife felt so _right._

He moved it away from his skin to avoid any puncture wounds, but even if something were to occur, he could find a way to explain it.

After all, it certainly wouldn't be the first time that knife had drawn blood.


End file.
